smiles in trouble, breathes courage, and spreads love
by long time brother
Summary: sherlock / molly: Jim Moriarty breaks into Molly Hooper's home, makes himself some tea and waits to kill her. It's a shame Molly has a problem with that.


**smiles in trouble, breathes courage, and spreads love**

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_'Character cannot be developed in ease and quite. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired and success achieved.'_

**Helen Keller**

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She buys a top.

It's blue and lacy and pushes out her chest in a way that makes the guys around her sit up and take notice except she's wearing it when Moriarty sits in her kitchen, sipping a cup of tea as if it's the most normal thing in the world and he eyes her with a smirk.

"Hello, Molly," he greets her politely as she backs away and hits the wall with a dull thud. "Now, I'm sure you're a little sick of hearing this but … well, I'm truly curious. Did you miss me?"

.

.

He thinks she's stupid.

She can tell and it makes her smile inside and it's such a _glorious_ feeling because for once, for once, she has the upper hand in all of this. She forces herself to breathe raggedly, eyes fixed on him in unimaginable terror and her fingers shake with fear as he snickers lightly.

Moriarty sets down his cup of tea and stands up. "There's no need to be so scared, Molly," he tells her. "You're like your cat, you know, Toby—so shy and terrified. Where is he, by the way?"

Her cat's probably happily mewling with his new owners, twin children by the name of Katie and Ben, having the time of his life but she sniffs lightly, makes her eyes shine with unshed tears and mumbles, "He's d-dead."

"Oh," Moriarty's tone is sad, sorrowful, but his face does not match. "Well, no matter—I never did like that cat."

.

.

She edges closer to him.

"I hope you don't mind my barging in like this, very rude, I understand, but I simply had to see you," he says, not noticing her move closer. "And to be honest, I'm quite frankly annoyed."

"W-why?" she stammers as her fingers discreetly tangle themselves within each other behind her back and she closes them over the knife that's stored safely in the back of her black skinny jeans (what? She's twenty six and allowed to enjoy jeans, okay?).

"Well, for one, you weren't supposed to save Sherly and for another, you were supposed to _stay_ broken," Moriarty frowns and his fingers tap at the saucer on the table restlessly. "Now I'm hearing all this 'Molly's slapped Sherlock Holmes' and 'Molly doesn't look like a walking bin bag!' rubbish and it makes me annoyed. You're a little close, aren't you, Molly?"

She smiles and promptly stabs him.

.

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"Kevlar, darling," Moriarty smirks lazily at her when the knife refuses to sink into his chest.

"Distraction, asshole," she turns up the bright smile and throws a punch, razor-sharp and faster than a fox, managing to get herself far enough away to sweep his legs out from under him.

Startled, Moriarty smashes into the chair behind him and his eyes narrow, as he gets back up. "Well, this is a rather pleasant surprise, isn't it?"

"Mmhmm," she hums as she busily tosses three knives towards him. He dodges two but one sinks into his arm and he groans with the pain as he yanks it out.

"So, what happened, Molls?" Moriarty asks as he snaps a chair leg and thrusts it at her. She manages to dive behind her fridge and fiddles with one of the many secret compartments in her floor, pulling out the gun. "How did you get like this? Did Sherly reject you too many times?"

She fires with purpose, her aim clear and true, but Moriarty, sensing he's hit a bit of a nerve, surges under her table, kicking it over to protect himself, and chuckles. "Ah, ah, ah, Molly," he singsongs. "I didn't bring a gun—now, that's not fair."

"You used me, you toyed with my feelings and you were mean to my cat," she replies, firing off a couple more rounds, "I think you don't get to judge what's fair."

"Why don't you let bygones be bygones?"

"You were going to kill me tonight!"

"Well, that may be true but I'm reconsidering."

"I feel deeply honoured," her tone is laced with heavy sarcasm as she throws herself into the kitchen once more, using her boots (designer, five hundred pounds and killer heels, _literally_) to smash through the table, shattering it to pieces.

Moriarty's already up, as he eyes the spilt tea and says, "A bit of a waste of tea, Molls, don't you think?" before directing a fist into her skull.

She deflects the arm quickly and efficiently, kicking at his knees and using all of her strength to slam the serial killer to the ground with his arms. Moriarty's not down for long, using his own legs to catapult himself over her, twisting his arms around to avoid any pain and manages to push in a few blows to the back of her head. She recoils immediately, surging forwards before using the broken chair to smash over his body and he crumples to the floor, unconscious.

Suspicious, she pulls out her gun and points it at him carefully, before prodding him with her boots. He blinks and grabs her legs, yanking her down but she's already firing as fast as she can although the bullets sink into the wall behind Moriarty.

"Now, don't get me wrong, Molly, because this is fun, it really is," he drawls as he repeatedly slams her head against the floor, "but well, no hard feelings, mm?"

"Yeah,' she says as she uses her legs to wrap around his upper body and thrusts herself up while pushing him down simultaneously. "No hard feelings."

So she uses the butt of her gun to strike at the back of his head, where he then flops unconscious, sidling to the floor in a heap, really and truly knocked out.

The distinct screeches of police cars can be heard increasing in volume and an entire squadron bursts into her broken house, Greg Lestrade at the front, eyes flashing with panic as he calls out, "Molly!"

.

.

Molly half smiles to herself and winks at Greg. "He fell for it," she says, satisfied as she pushes herself up. "You guys took your time."

There's a slight accusatory note in her tone and Greg moves forward to apologise but she laughs and adds, "I'm teasing, Greg. But seriously, you guys are paying for the damages in my home. You know, I wouldn't mind moving to a better house if the damages are too big—,"

"Ha ha, very funny," Greg chuckles. "But are you okay?"

Before Molly can answer, the unmistakably unamused tone of someone familiar echoes in through the doors: _"It might be a better idea for you to make up with your mother because it wasn't her fault she ate your piece of the pie rather than refusing to let me inside!"_

Greg rolls his eyes as Molly brushes off her hands busily and Sherlock Holmes bursts through the doors decisively, his hair bouncing a little, as John Watson, quickly mumbling apologies, follows. The detective's sharp eyes rake the room and there's a glimmer of a proud smile that pushes at his lips when his eyes settle on Molly who tilts her head questioningly at him.

"The self-defence lessons paid off," she says as she adjusts her top and fails to notice Sherlock's rather hungry gaze follow the gesture. "He thought I was weak and well, that was his first mistake. The second was him breaking in and drinking my tea but, details."

Molly waves an airy hand but the movement makes her vision blur for a little and the men around her chuckle lightly. John frowns and he quickly moves to Molly, ignoring her protests, and examines her head. "You've had a few beatings to the skull, you're going to be feeling a little lightheaded, Molly," he explains, his voice light and cool, as he beckons for Greg to take Molly's hand. "We're going to take you to the hospital now—,"

And she falls.

Greg's too slow.

John's too startled.

Sherlock's just right, two long strides allowing him to catch the brunette smoothly, and she's pressed up against his chest, almost as if she belongs there. He swallows tightly and Molly begins to stir lightly but he murmurs, "Go to sleep, Molly. You'll be fine."

She blinks up at him rather tiredly but despite her exhaustion, her gaze is steady before Molly breathes out and leans back against his chest.

"Oh, and that's a very beautiful top you're wearing."

He swears there are the beginnings of a rather pink blush seeping into her cheeks.

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**fin**

**A/N:** This may be a little confusing which, usually, my stories are to me, as well. I mean, I'm writing something and then I realise, I have NO IDEA WHAT I'M ON ABOUT and then I have to try and figure out what my brain's trying to tell me and it's really hard because I go off on huge tangents (not the maths-ey circle-ey kind) and yeah, ANYWAY.

Basically, it's a few months after Moriarty's hacked into the network and done his whole, 'DIDJA MISS ME?!' thing and Molly's grown into herself, becoming more and more confident, taking self-defence lessons and allowing herself to become the badass she always was. Molly finds Moriarty in her place - a trap, they knew he was coming - and they fight, chairs get smashed, tea is spilt (NOT THE EARL GREY, ANYTHING BUT THE EARL GREY), and secret compartments are not ... secret anymore. Anyway, I think that's it. If there are any more questions, PM me and I hope you enjoyed this!


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